


we could blame it all on human nature

by Macremae



Series: School of Newt [2]
Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Found Family, Ghost Drifting, Humor, Implied/Referenced Abuse, M/M, Mako Mori Lives, Post-Movie: Pacific Rim: Uprising (2018), The Drift (Pacific Rim), honeymoon phase 2 doesn't care!!!, take a shot for every letterkenny reference you WILL die, yes i KNOW they're too old to fuck in a closet charles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:02:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23815831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Macremae/pseuds/Macremae
Summary: After the first Drift with Hermann, Newt was a little too busy with, y'know, being fucking possessed to really take in any of the aftereffects or mind-reading fuckery or whatever. Now, however, after that second one wrapped up theworstfucking ten years of his life in a neat little romantic bow, he's beginning to notice some... oddities.In which the Ghost Drift is weird, Hermann can sing, apparently, and Newt says fuck a normal amount for someone from Boston.
Relationships: Nate Lambert/Jake Pentecost/Jules Reyes, Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb
Series: School of Newt [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2183523
Comments: 6
Kudos: 82





	we could blame it all on human nature

**Author's Note:**

> gotta give big props to @avelera for having this batshit conversation with me a few months ago, saying the magic words "yeah newt, that sounds like a totally reasonable prompt idea to spend time and energy on", and instructing me on the proper other-word-to-fuck ratio that would truly be realistic for newt. three guesses to where mako and raleigh are hiding out being gross and in love!!!

Despite the admittedly pathetic implications of actually saying it aloud, Newt is used to being bullied. Not even in the bureaucratic way, although that’s happened… a lot, like in the “getting shoved into a locker the two years he spent in middle school and called a bunch of gay slurs” way, which really was excellent training for how the last ten years of his life went, except the locker was a mind prison, and the gay slurs wereーwell, no, actually that pretty much stayed consistent. 

The point is that Newt’s had a lot of time to learn how to take care of himself, and when people talk shit they tend to get hit (verbally, usually). Although that has taken a bit of a backseat lately to being nervous as hell whenever anyone so much as appears like they’re about to talk to him. Also he stutters now. Well, more, now. It’s also a nerves thing, but like. Newt was going somewhere with this.

The point of this primer is that Newt grew up in Boston, which means two things: one, it’s within his natural inclination to say fuck every few words or so, and two, he’s really, really good at cussing people out. Like, it’s an art form. Gordon Ramsey doesn’t have shit on Massholes. And Hermann always found this relatively “uncouth” (his words, not Newt’s), which Newt didn’t care about, because Hermann was both British (strike one), and _Bavarian_ (strike two), so his views on linguistics and cultural decorum could go right into the paper shredder with the rest of his formal complaints.

The Drift, however, has changed this a bit.

Newt has an incredibly vague memory of waking up once in the med bay while still on painkillers, and asking Hermann to tell him what day it was in what might have been a British accent. He has another, slightly less vague memory of getting breakfast in the dining hall, and not realizing he had swapped his usual coffee out for a cup of black tea until it was halfway drunk. Hermann’s nightmares wake him up and his own wake up Hermann, yes, but Newt watched an episode of _Downton Abbey_ of his own free will the other night, so he suspects the Drift bleed might be a little more pervasive than just trauma stuff.

What he neither suspects nor expects is how potent it can actually be, or how batshit wild Hermann’s reputation around the base already is. The situation escalates as follows.

Newt is on his way to the med bay for physical therapy, which Hermann also has at the same time because separation anxiety is so low on their list of problems right now that who fucking gives a fuck. Newt is on the outside, Hermann is closest to the center of the hallway, and this gives him the ability to hear with crystal clarity what the one pilot passing them says to his friend.

“They just let the specimen out without a leash now?” he whispers snidely, and Newt allows himself a tiny roll of his eyes. Showing outward dissent towards pretty much anyone is an unwise choice these days, but he gets a _Fleabag_ moment or two in when he can. Inside, however, he fantasizes about the profanity-laden dressing-down he would have given this guy if it had only been a decade earlier, and Newt could make it more than three words without hesitating. 

Beside him, Hermann stiffens slightly, and Newt turns to offer him a knowing smile. Then, the strangest, completely all in his head tingle itches at the back of his brain, and he looks just in time to see Hermann stop abruptly. 

Newt stops walking as well, and is about to ask if he’s okay, when Hermann spins around, opens his mouth, and launches into something that shuts Newt up like a bear trap.

“Hey pump the brakes; motherfuckers unlimited one and two, how’d the ACT go yesterday? You get a good enough fuckin’ score in between the two of you to get a pity acceptance to the fuckin’ University of Phoenix? Gonna show up to the first fuckin’ Zoom class in your t-shirts with the sleeves cut off that say ‘I Peaked in High School’? And what a real fuckin’ nice mullet there Riley; be honest, you were trying to bring yourself up to maybe, I don’t fuckin’ know, a four out of ten but browned out before you could cut the rest, right? I mean I’m not really being fuckin’ fair am I, what with there probably not being enough grey matter left in there to stand between two goddamn fuckin’ mirrors and get a straight line! Or no, y’know what, I know what it fuckin’ was! Speaking as a survivor of the horrific disease that is thinking wearing sunglasses in-fuckin’-doors is a good idea, lemme just emphatically insist that no matter how cool you think you are? Everybody around you is abundantly fuckin’ aware that you’re a complete asshole. Wouldn’t be surprised seeing as you truly are the physical, emotional, and spiritual embodiment of being forced to read _The Old Man and the_ fuckin’ _Sea_! But then again, you’d have to pull your own head out of your ass to look around for two seconds and notice! Maybe you could get your buddy to help you; don’t worry, it’s not gay if you’re too fuckin’ stupid to know which end to start with! Or maybe you’ve been told to go fuck yourself enough times that’s it’s stuck!”

The hallway is so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

Hermann Gottlieb yelling had become not an abnormal thing to hear in the months leading up to Newt’s release and recovery, but Newt would bet every alien-earned dollar in his offshore bank accounts (which he has, apparently) that no one had ever seen Hermann blow his lid with a) that many fucks per sentence, or really any fucks to begin with, and b) an _unmistakably_ thick Boston accent. Newt’s brain is a blue screen. His mouth hangs open so wide it could hold a watermelon.

For a long, flabbergasted moment, nobody speaks. Then Hermann, white as a sheet in a snowstorm and looking just as ready to topple over, clears his throat immeasurably quietly, readjusts his grip on his cane, and nods tersely at the pilots before booking it down the hall.

Newt follows quickly, unsure if there’s even a lexicon to define what he’s feeling right now. Hermann just defended him. Okay. Hermann defended him to a bunch of asshole pilots like an actual honorable, chivalrous, sexy white knight as per literally all of Newt’s healing fantasies. Roger that. Hermann just said “fuck” more times in a single crystallized moment than Newt has ever heard in the entire twenty-two years he’s known the guy, and he thinks, _fuck_ physical therapy, he’ll prove just how good at coordination he’s gotten right the fuck now in a supply closet. 

“Pumpkin?” he says carefully, aware of the vivid mortification quickly spreading across Hermann’s face. “Did you just call those guys the emotional equivalent of reading _The Old Man and the Sea_?”

Hermann pauses in his course to… somewhere other than the hallway, and his voice cracks when he says, “I’ve never been to Boston. I don’t even know what the University of Phoenix is.” He turns to Newt, looking so distressed over this it’s almost kind of adorable. “Do you know what it is? Newton, what is ‘browning out’?”

All Newt can think to say is, “I grew up mostly in Boston,” and watches as the dots connect within Hermann’s mind to result in a really, _really_ interesting strangled noise. Newt doesn’t think he’s ever heard that come out of a human before.

“Point in your favor,” he says in a way that he hopes is helpful, “that’s the best impression of me you’ve done yet. Ten out of ten, babe.”

“I wrote my notes in print yesterday,” Hermann says to himself, as if discovering his fingernails for the first time. “And you wore socks to bed.”

“Huh,” says Newt, remembering. “I did do that, didn’t I? Weird.”

“How significant could this possibly _be_ without a Jaeger conduit?” he wonders aloud, mind already visibly racing behind his eyes. “Could language knowledge transfer? Or mind-to-mind communication? Do you think we could develop each other’s mental profiles as well?”

“We’d have to get you your own Adderall prescription, or there’d be a lot of weird questions.”

Hermann takes his hand and begins walking again, determined as Newt’s ever seen him. “Certainly quite a bit to talk about at PT today, then. I’ll have to ask if we can borrow a few devices to take down to the lab. Do you think our heartbeats are in sync?”

“I think you definitely got some of my ADHD if that answers one question,” Newt says, glancing longingly at the closet door they pass. He’s still stupidly turned on. “Hey Hermann, we’re, uh gonna be there like, um. Fifteen minutes early.” He swallows, anxiety refusing to take a break even now. “And, y’know. Yーyou were really awesome back there.”

“Oh thank you Newton, unconventional as it was I’m happy to be there for you,” Hermann replies, clearly not reading the situation at all. Newt groans internally. He’s gonna have to ask for something he wants, isn’t he.

“Hermann,” he says, tugging Hermann’s arm to bring them both to a halt. “Like, uh, rーreally impressive, y’know.” Newt’s face is on fire, but he tries batting his eyelashes anyway to see if Hermann gets the memo. “Sure makes me want to, uーuh. Thank you for your service.”

Hermann blinks confusedly. “Newton, really. It wasn’t any trouble.”

Newt wants to go back down to his old cell and become one with the flooring. “Jesus Christ. Okay. Hermann you’re hot when you’re angry and I want to suck your dick in that supply closet,” he says in a single rushed breath, and indicates the one in question with a pointed thumb. “Please.”

Hermann turns from still a little peaky to bright scarlet within seconds. “Ah. Er. Well. I’m, ah. Very flattered that is your reaction. Thank you.” He remains frozen for another moment or two before realizing that isn’t a complete answer, and sputters out a, “Yes, wーwell, let’s go and be succinct about it so we don’t miss our, er, appointment.”

Newt feels a rush of relief and grins. “Sweet. Hell yeah. Yay sex.”

“Jolly good for sex,” Hermann echoes in a sort of warble, and follows Newt into the closet to, as they both very well know, be horribly, shamelessly late.

* * *

Another new and fascinating thing about Newt’s life now is that he has more than one friend. Up until meeting Hermann, that number usually remained at about a steady zero, or _maybe_ one point five if he had a partner at the time, but now what Jake has taken to semi-ironically calling the “Shatterdome Geneva Convention Protection Squad”, plus Mako visiting from an undisclosed location in rural Canada (Raleigh is, apparently, busy nursing a newly broken nose from challenging the toughest guy in town and getting his ass handed to him. Newt is absolutely not amused by this. For realsies), have dragged him, and by extension Hermann, out to some karaoke bar downtown. The place is small and grungy and smells like cherry vape, and most of the drinks on the menu taste exactly the same as virgins. The Precursors wouldn’t have touched it with a ten foot pole. Newt, naturally, thinks it’s fantastic.

“Listen,” says Jules emphatically, twirling a cocktail straw around her fingers like a tiny baton, “it absolutely is character assasination. They completely stripped him of any actual agency in the story, didn’t let him sing his own damn song with _his name in the title_ , and made him a wimp. Ergo, it sucked. End of story.”

Hermann raises his eyes to the exposed ceiling beams in a silent prayer. “I am asking for a subject change; anything other than this movie. Please.”

“Oh what, doctor fancy-films is too good for _Cats (2019)?_ ” taunts Newt, sliding the glass holding his basically soda water mojito back and forth between his hands. “Too good for motherfuckin’ Skimbleshanks the Railway Cat? You can start the train on your own, then?”

“Mate, please let it die,” says Jake. “You haven’t had to hear this bit at least once a week.”

“No no,” says Hermann flatly. “He does love to listen to himself talk.”

“Switched to a new favorite monster movie, then?” asks Nate, and Jules and Jake let out twin shouts of laughter. Newt rolls his eyes.

“Yeah yeah, laugh it up. It would’ve swept at the Oscars if Hollywood’d been back up by then; I’d put money on it.”

“God knows you’ve got enough to spare,” Jules says with a grin.

“Hey, your boyfriends’ kids weren’t complaining when it let them experience the video game artistry that is _Sonic Adventure 2._ ”

“Furry,” Nate coughs into his beer, and Hermann nearly spits out his drink. Mako smiles into her own.

“Pitter patter, Ranger Lambert.”

“Fuck off,” Newt says, tapping Hermann on the forearm. “Hermann, back me up here; tell them I’m not a furry.”

“Newton, I have seen your old sketchbooks by proxy. I cannot, in good conscience, do that.”

Jake puts his head down on the table to muffle his laughter, while Jules covers her mouth with her hand. Mako shrugs. “He can’t, Newt. Dr. Gottlieb is a man of honesty.”

“Oh like you’ve never done anything embarrassing,” Newt shoots back at Hermann, pointing an accusing finger. “I know for a fuckin’ fact you were in an a cappella group for one semester at Oxford because you needed your arts credit.”

“Whoa whoa, Dr. Gottlieb was in a what now?” Jake says far too gleefully. Hermann’s face pinkens.

“As Newton said, it was purely to satisfy a graduation requirement despite my considerable academic contributions to the university, and the fact that I was even on track to graduate earlyー”

“It was called The Alternotives, they were the regional champions back in 2013, and for one beautiful, epic semester, Herms over here was their golden boy tenor.” Hermann looks at Newt as if he’d just told the table every detail of their sex life. “Alas, Father Gottlieb found out and made him drop it once the requirement was filled, but,” he taps his temple, “I’ve got every little concert right up here, and boy were those dance routines, uh. Something.”

“Hand gestures,” says Hermann tightly, clearly attempting to burn a hole in Newt’s forehead with his glare. “I did the hand gestures. That was all.”

“Oh my _God_ they have a YouTube channel,” says Jules, looking up from her phone. “There’s nothing from back then but holy shit. Dr. Gottlieb, I didn’t know you could sing!”

“I _don’t_ ,” Hermann begins, but Jake interrupts him.

“Nah, mate, c’mon, you have to go up there and sing something.” He nods at the small stage with a single spotlight and karaoke machine. “Prove you’ve got skills.”

“I have nothing to prove, and I do not possess anything of the sort,” Hermann snaps. Newt shoots a knowing look at Mako, who hides a smirk, and then lightly elbows him.

“It’s okay, guys. Hermann just doesn’t want to embarrass himself ‘cause he knows _I’m_ the better singer. He’s always been my biggest groupie, right pumpkin?”

Hermann shoots Newt a flat stare that clearly says “Newton, are you fucking kidding me?” and Newt thinks, _Bingo_. Hermann snatches up his cane from the seat beside him and slides out of the booth. “Utter slander,” he grumbles, despite the whoops and cheers of the rest of the table. “I am nothing of the sort. And you cannot compare Newton and I; he is practically a bloody _soprano_.”

“Wait, wait, wait!” shouts Jake, and climbs over Jules to hurry over to the stage before Hermann can reach it. “You can’t do one of your group songs; you have to let us pick.”

Hermann’s scowl is visible from the table, but he lets Jake punch in a song and carefully climbs the steps to stand as far back from the front of the stage as possible. Newt tries to send him a sympathetic vibe of “You’ve got this, honey,” despite the fact that they both well know this situation can only end in embarrassment. The screen above Hermann goes dark, and Jake makes it back to the table just in time for the unmistakable guitar chords and bongo drums of _We Didn’t Start the Fire_ to come blasting out of the speaker.

A cacophony of noise goes up from the table, and Jules gives Jake a light smack on the arm. “You asshole, that’s a straight-up American song!”

“So what?” Jake says, holding up his hands in defense. “I’m not American, and I still know it.”

“Vaguely,” Nate says dryly, but Newt is busy watching Hermann onstage. At the start of the intro, a look of pale resignation is starkly apparent, but as the song progresses, something changes. Hermann appears to frown, and takes the microphone gingerly as if thinking very, very deeply about what he is about to do next. Newt feels that strange, itching feeling in the back of his mind again, but before he can look too deeply into it, Hermann begins to… well, sing is a word one could use for it.

“ _Harry Truman, Doris Day, Red China, Johnnie Ray  
South Pacific, Walter Winchell, Joe DiMaggio  
Joe McCarthy, Richard Nixon, Studebaker, Television  
North Korea, South Korea, Marilyn Monroe_”

Every head at the table snaps towards the stage, and the cocktail straw in Mako’s mouth drops into the glass below. “Is he…” begins Nate, but doesn’t even get a chance to finish before the next verse starts.

“ _Rosenbergs, H-Bomb, Sugar Ray, Panmunjom  
Brando, The King And I, and The Catcher In The Rye  
Eisenhower, Vaccine, England's got a new queen  
Marciano, Liberace, Santayana goodbye_”

As Hermann sings the chorus, he does not have the look of a man who is hitting every single word and note flawlessly, without any hesitation. He looks like a man who is looking at a dead body in a room with no doors or windows. Jake’s mouth is now open as well, and Jules has picked up her phone to silently begin filming. Newt genuinely feels like he has lice at the very base of his skull, it tingles so hard.

Hermann makes his way through the entire four minute song without missing a syllable. Halfway through, some other patrons of the bar begin clapping, and at one point Jules puts her fingers in her mouth and wolf-whistles. Mako keeps shooting Newt incredulous looks, but all _he_ can do is stare at Hermann and wonder what the actual _fuck_ is going on. He didn’t remember the Kaidonovskys ever doing _this_.

When he finally finishes, a massive cheer goes up from the whole of the bar, and their table leads the racket. Jake cups his hands around his mouth and hoots, and even Nate lets out a congratulatory “Hell yeah!” as Hermann stands stock-still onstage for a few more moments, and then hurries back.

“Dr. Gottlieb, that was amazing; what the fuck!” Jules exclaims, giving him a pat on the back as Hermann slides into his seat stiffly, staring at the grains of the wood top.

In a quiet, strained voice, he says “That is the first time I have _ever_ heard that song in my life.”

“Oh,” Newt replies without thinking, “I love that song. I know the whole thing.”

There’s a moment of shocked, disbelieving silence. Mako raises her eyebrows. Nate lets go of his napkin

Then, the table erupts.


End file.
